this is our chance (we can do it better)
by Tarafina
Summary: After Monroe successfully wipes out Scott's pack, he finds himself back at the start. Sixteen years old, freshly bitten, and overwhelmed with the knowledge of what's to come and how to make it right.


**summary: **After Monroe successfully wipes out Scott's pack, he finds himself back at the start. Sixteen years old, freshly bitten, and overwhelmed with the knowledge of what's to come and how to make it right.

* * *

_**this is our chance (we can do it better)**_  
**1/1**

Stiles was dead. Scott stared at blank eyes and a pale face, scattered with constellations and blood. He lay on the wet concrete, an arm outstretched, fingers pointing at something and nothing. Lydia knelt next to him, hands balled up in the loose fabric of his shirt, devastated, struggling to suck in air for each body-shaking sob.

Scott couldn't hear her. He could only see the way she crumbled. How she pushed and pulled at Stiles in an effort to wake him from something he would never stir from.

Scott couldn't hear anything. Stunned, he sat on the rain-soaked ground, every fiber of his body trembling with loss. Not rage. It might live somewhere deep inside, but it was blotted out now, consumed by the deep and guttural shadow of absolute grief. His brother was dead. A scratch or a bite wouldn't bring him back now. It was gone; he was lost.

And he wasn't the only one.

Twenty feet away, shoulder to shoulder, were Liam and Mason. Liam's throat was in tatters, a gory mess Scott couldn't stand to look at. And Mason, wearing a chest of bullet holes, was no better. They'd lost Corey last week; flickering in and out of sight as a knife stuck him through. Mason's scream would haunt Scott for the rest of his life.

Derek. Severed at the waist and left in two pieces, waiting to be found on the doorstep of Scott's motel room. He'd tripped over the body, stumbled backwards on his hands and heels, a strangled shout caught in his throat.

And Peter— set on fire. Scott breathed through his nose so he wouldn't have to remember the smell of burnt flesh.

They picked them off, one by one. Circled the town they were staying in temporarily and took out the Hales first. Then Corey, so he couldn't shield them. And now, here they were, surrounding what was left of Scott's pack. The last three.

His gaze finally fell to her, resting in his lap, her back pressed to his chest. Blood coated her chin and dripped off the end. Her eyes were half-closed; blood and rain coating her face. She reached up, a shaking hand meeting his cheek, and she smiled, her teeth coated in blood. He couldn't hear her, but he knew what she was saying. He'd seen those same lips form those three words time and time again. I love you.

Scott's hand tucked beneath her chin, his fingers pressed tight. Don't go, he wanted to say. I can't lose you, too.

But he felt it. He felt the moment that she was lost; her heart stopping and her body growing limp.

And then—

_Lydia screamed._

It pierced the hollow emptiness of Scott's ears. It shook the ground with its intensity. The sky seemed to split and crack open, a gush of rain and lightning. And Scott roared in answer. To Lydia. To the death that surrounded him. To the loss of his pack. His brother. His love.

Lightning stabbed the ground; bolt after bolt. It sheared a tree in half. It cracked the pavement. And it lit the ash that lay around Scott. The mountain ash that Stiles had been pointing to before things went sideways. Ash infused with a special form of wolfsbane. When the lightning sparked it, every particle seemed to lift up into the air. It separated itself, until particles of wolfsbane hung suspended. They color grew in intensity the longer that Lydia screamed and Scott howled. They became so bright he had to close his eyes against them.

And then—

_Nothing._

Darkness.

No sound.

He wondered for a moment if the lightning had struck him, too. If Monroe and her hunters had killed him where he sat.

But then light started to creep across his vision. Slow and warm. The rain was gone. Scott could feel something soft beneath his back. When had he laid down?

Blinking, he opened his eyes to see... a ceiling.

Was it a dream? Was he back in the motel room he'd slept in last night? Malia tucked safely next to him. Lydia and Stiles in the room next to theirs, Mason and Liam on the other side. _Alive_.

He sat up abruptly, hands scrambling against the bed. Only... he wasn't in a motel.

He was at home. A home he hadn't seen in years.

Scott pushed off the bed and stood, looking around in confusion. This made no sense. His house had been burned to the ground three years ago. His mom had barely made it out. Scott had been on the road by then, trying to track down Monroe and pull together an army of their own.

He didn't understand.

Until he did.

His arm brushed against something on his side and he looked down. First, he noticed the lack of tattoo on his arm, and then he realized there was a bandage across his side. A very familiar bandage in a very familiar place. Scott rushed into the bathroom and stared in shock at a version of himself that was six years younger. A sixteen-year-old Scott, freshly bitten, stood before him. He didn't know if he was pissed or elated. Pulling the bandage off, he stared down at smooth, unblemished skin. He flicked his hand out then, testing his ability. His nails formed easily, long and lethal. And when he raised his eyes to the mirror, he expected yellow. A beta. Instead, he was met with a vivid red.

He was still an Alpha.

* * *

**…**

* * *

"Dude, where are you? School is starting any minute!"

Scott shook his head, phone held up to his ear. "You need to meet me at my house. I... I need to tell you something. I need your help."

"What? What are you talking about? Scott, what happened?"

_Where to start?_ he wondered. "Stiles, seriously. Get to my house, now. I'll explain everything when you're here."

"All right, fine. But for the record, my dad's gonna be pissed if I miss the first day back at school. Not to mention, we have lacrosse tryouts today."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Hurry up!"

"Okay, okay, I'm coming."

Met with the dull sound of the dial tone, Scott sat back on his bed and ran a hand through his hair. His mind was racing a mile a minute and he had no idea what to do or what to focus on. If this was real, if by some insane miracle time had reversed itself and he was back to being 16 years old, then… The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he could do, so many people he could save. But if he changed it, if he chose to completely redirect the path his life had previously taken… then what? Eventually, he wouldn't know what was coming. He wouldn't know who would live or who would die. He couldn't be sure that the decisions he made were the right ones. Or who, if anyone, those choices would benefit.

But he did know that he couldn't let all of it stay the same. He couldn't let his pack be destroyed like it had been in his original future. He couldn't let Erica or Boyd or Allison die. He couldn't watch Stiles breathe his last breath or hold Malia as she took hers. He had to do something.

* * *

**...**

* * *

By the time Stiles arrived, Scott had a scattered list of enemies, events, and milestones written out. It was a timeline, a hastily constructed one, but he could work on that.

"Dude, what is going on?" Stiles walked through the door and took a seat on the edge of Scott's bed. "The tone you were using on the phone this morning? Worried me a little, not gonna lie."

Scott turned his desk chair around to face Stiles. "I have to tell you something and I know you're going to freak out."

"Good freak out or bad freak out?"

Scott frowned. "Well, the first time around, you were a lot more excited about it than I was."

"The first time… What? Scott, what are you talking about?"

Taking a deep breath, Scott leaned forward, making sure he had Stiles' full attention, and then he let his eyes turn a bright, vivid red.

"Holy—" Stiles lurched back, wide-eyed. "What…? I mean… What?"

"Okay, listen. I'll tell you everything, but it's going to take a while, so just… don't interrupt. I'll answer all of your questions when I'm done."

A jittery Stiles looked eager, excited, and already full of questions. "All right, okay, tell me."

An hour later, Scott was staring at a slack-jawed Stiles. "—and that's the last thing I remember. Lydia screamed and I… I woke up here. Like this. Six years younger, but still an alpha."

Stiles blinked at him. "Wait, so… You're saying…"

Scott nodded.

"…that I'm dating Lydia Martin in the future?"

Scott blinked. "Is that the only thing you heard? Nothing a-about werewolves or chimeras or Dread Doctors or the Anuk Ite or Monroe or any of the hundred times we almost died?"

"I mean… yeah. All very important things, but…" Stiles grinned widely, letting out a whooping laugh, "Lydia Martin?! I knew it! I knew she'd fall in love with me if she just gave me a chance. I mean, it took a lot longer than I probably wanted it to, like… What, uh, what would you say? Was it senior year or…?"

Scott rolled his eyes. Sitting back in his desk chair, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Stiles, you literally died in her arms, okay? And that might seem really cool and romantic from a distance, but as someone who saw it happen, as someone who had to watch you die…"

Stiles went still. The laughter and good humor drained away. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should take this seriously. You've obviously been through a lot and… I mean, if what you're saying is true then, Scott, we could change it." Nodding quickly, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Yeah, I mean, we know who the alpha is. We know Derek Hale starts out shady but is ultimately a good guy. We know not to trust that English teacher, Jennifer Whatever. That the alpha pack will come. That Jackson will turn into a freaking murder-lizard. I mean… We can do this! We can stop it or- or help it along, whatever fits the situation. You know?"

Scott nodded. "I know. But that's the thing. I mean… The Jackson of right now is a dick."

"To put it lightly," Stiles agreed.

"Right. But after he turned into a kanima, after he went to London and figured himself out, he came back a better person. So, if I stop it, if he never becomes a kanima, does that ruin his life?"

"Okay, deep philosophical question I don't exactly have an answer to." Stiles tapped his chin. "Well, listen, we don't have to figure it all out today, right? I mean, there are some things that are going to happen that we can stop. Since we know about Peter Hale and the whole revenge plot, we can keep him from killing all those people." He tipped his head side to side. "I mean, they weren't exactly good people. They had a hand in the Hale fire and killed a lot of innocent people, including kids, right? So, maybe we don't let them get murdered, but we could also put together a case to get them thrown in jail for the rest of ever. That's an idea, right?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. We can do that."

"Okay. So, issue number one, vaguely planned out. Now for something a little more serious…" Stiles' brows arched. "If what you said is true then, right about now, you should be meeting Allison in English class… Are we not doing that? There was that whole pencil exchange thing you mentioned, right?"

Scott nodded.

"Okay, so… Are we leaving Allison alone? Because, I gotta say, it sounds like having Allison in your life was a big part of why her dad came around on the shifter thing, and Allison too. Not exactly the worst kind of allies to have on your side. So, if she doesn't have you in her life, does she just take up the family mantle?"

Scott frowned. "I don't know. I'd like to think she wouldn't. That it's not who she is, but…" He sighed. "I don't know."

"Okay. Well, one lost pencil exchange isn't going to change much. We've still got time to influence her in other ways, right?"

Nodding, Scott turned his gaze to the window. "What about Malia?"

"Malia your girlfriend that is literally a coyote right now, roaming the woods? Also, just a question, did you say I dated her? Like… Before you, I was dating Malia, and then you two…"

Scott turned to him. "You guys broke up and… not long after, you and Lydia figured things out."

Stiles blinked. "Oh."

"And then Malia… You were at the Academy and we were back here, trying to figure things out with the Anuk Ite and Monroe, and…And she was just always there for me, through everything, and it just… It made sense."

Stiles nodded. "How long were you together before she…?"

"Died?" Scott stared at him. "Four years."

"Wow." Stiles smiled slowly. "So, uh, that means me and Lydia were together that long too, huh?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you were."

Grinning goofily, Stiles nodded. "Cool."

Sighing, Scott stood from his chair and walked to his door. "I need to find her."

"Her? What, Malia?" Stiles followed after him. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, have you thought that through? How's she going to affect all of this? If we speed up her timeline, how will that play into everything else? She's Peter Hale's daughter, so can we use that to keep him from doing what he's doing? Or is that shitty? Plus, I mean, if she has no memory of what happened, then she's gonna have a pretty serious adjustment period to work with. And that doesn't even consider the part where you're in love with her, but she has like, no idea who you are. Talk about awkward." He skipped down the stairs, waving his arms around as he spoke. "All I'm saying is, maybe we should take a minute to really consider what it would mean if—"

Scott pulled the front door open, only to be met with a surprise.

A naked Malia stood before him, skin streaked in dirt and hair tangled with twigs and leaves. Her hands were braced on either side of the doorway, head ducked as she panted. Her voice was a strangled croak as she wondered, "What the hell is going on?"

Scott let out a relieved sigh. "You're okay." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

Malia sunk into him. Her shaking arms folded, hands cupped around his shoulders, and she pressed her cheek against his. "I- I don't… The last thing I remember was… We were outside the hotel… surrounded by hunters and…" She shook her head. "I thought I… I mean, it felt like I…"

"Died." The word tore from Scott's throat on a rasp. "I know. You did. Or you were." He squeezed her tighter and buried his face against her neck. "I woke up here. I didn't know what to do. But I was coming for you."

She nodded. "I know."

A minute passed with them just holding onto each other before Stiles, eventually, cleared his throat. "I don't want to break up this tender moment you're having, but… She is super naked and you're, uh, standing on the porch in broad daylight."

Leaning back, Scott stayed in front of Malia as he shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around her. She shoved her arms through the sleeves as he buttoned the front. Meanwhile, Stiles stood staring in the complete opposite direction, awkwardly scratching his temple.

Bringing Malia inside, Scott closed the door, and led them all to the living room couch.

"Okay, so…" Stiles clapped his hands together and fell into an armchair. "I'm guessing from what I heard that you remember most of what happened?"

Malia turned to him. "Minus how, exactly, we got here, yeah. I remember."

"Great! Then that eliminates the Malia issue. Except, of course, for the part where we have to reunite her with her father and explain how we even found her, yadda, yadda, yadda." Stiles waved a hand. "Not easy, but we'll figure something out. Back to what we were saying before, who do we recruit into this? I mean, we need to have a team or pack or whatever, right? We know Derek's pro-Scott eventually. Do we bring him in and let him know it's his uncle causing all this mayhem?"

Scott shook his head. "Not yet. He doesn't trust us and even if Peter is killing people, he's still Derek's uncle. He'll pick him over us any day."

"What if he remembers too? Like Malia did?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't think he will. I mean… You don't."

Stiles scowled. "Right, so how does Malia remember then?" He waved a hand toward her. "How are you two the only two people that-?"

A frantic knock interrupted him then and they all turned toward it in tandem.

Scott heard a familiar huff of a sigh before the door swung open and Lydia Martin, six years younger, marched into his house. With a hand on her hip, she said, "All right, what mythological creature can manipulate time and space?"

Scott blinked. "Uh, I think it was you."

"Excuse me?" She frowned and crossed her arms. "And what makes you think—"

"You screamed, right before it happened. I think it activated something in the Mountain Ash…" Scott's brows hiked as he nodded. "I think you sent us back here."

Lydia stared at him a beat, her mouth ajar. "I…" She shook her head. "What does that mean? For us? For… everything that happened?"

Scott took a deep breath. "I think we have a second chance. To do it all over. To fix what we couldn't before."

"But why?" she wondered, a strained whisper of emotion. "Why now? Why, after everything that happened?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "But… I'm grateful."

Lydia stared at him a long beat and then nodded. "Yeah. Of course, you're right. I… We can do so much. Change so much." She took a moment, blinking quickly, and then said, "We need a plan."

Abruptly, Stiles raised a hand. "Oh, oh, I am great at plans. You need a plan, I can make a plan. I'm your guy. Or I will be. Or I was." He paused, brow furrowed. "How does that work?"

Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head, looking both exasperated and fond. "We can make a plan together. All of us."

"Right, yes, that makes sense…" Stiles hesitated. "So, about the other thing? The you-and-me thing? Is that still on the table or…?"

Rolling her eyes, Lydia started for the kitchen, pulling her jacket off as she went. "I'm starving. If we're skipping school to do this, then we should make sure we're on top of our game. I'll make breakfast." She turned her head, hair swinging at her back. "And you'll help."

Stiles perked up in his seat. "I will?" He leapt to his feet. "I will!"

Scott watched them go, a small smile curving his mouth.

"Hey." Malia tugged on his sleeve, drawing his attention.

He turned to her, tucked against his side, swamped in his jacket. Her cheeks were a healthy, flushed, pink. There were no bags under her eyes, no exhaustion haunting the hollows of her face. There was no blood spatter wetting her skin or her hair, no gaping wounds weeping without end. She was young and whole and alive. "I missed you."

She stared at him. "I wasn't gone that long, was I?"

"Long enough." He shook his head. "I don't think I could do it again. Any of it. Losing all those people, watching the pack die. Holding you as everything just… stopped."

Malia nodded. "I know."

Scott felt the warm prick of tears in his eyes. "I'm relieved. I— I'm happy that we can do it differently. But knowing what's coming, what we'll have to fight, hoping that it turns out differently this time… I'm exhausted just thinking about it."

"It's going to be different."

"What if it isn't? What if it all just ends the same?"

She stared at him a long beat and then she stood. She took his hand and she tugged, drawing him up with her. They left the living room and climbed the stairs. Scott's gaze wandered the hallway; walls decorated in family photos, dressed in a time that felt so distant from the reality he knew. Malia brought him through his room and into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, letting it warm, and moved to the sink. She started pulling twigs and leaves from her hair and after a beat of watching, he joined her. His fingers were careful, gentle, as he unwound her hair from each piece of debris, letting it fill the sink below. He dug out a brush for her to use and stood at her back, his hands on her shoulders, watching her.

For years, they moved motel to motel, just barely outrunning Monroe and her hunters. There were days and weeks that they took turns sleeping, when it was just too unsafe for them to both let their guard down. He remembered nights that he would sit at the window, the blinking red light of the vacancy sign bouncing off the table in front of him, while he watched Malia sleep, tossing and turning from nightmares of things she'd seen and done and had done to her. Of monsters that were too real and people who were too cruel. And on the rare nights that she was still, sleeping peacefully, he comforted himself with the fact that he had her. Because if he'd had to do it alone, if the pack scattered in every direction and all he could do was run and run, racing through a world with nobody there beside him, he wouldn't have lasted this long.

And maybe that would always be his life. Maybe, even now, having an opportunity to make things different, make them better, they were still destined for something dark and gruesome and exhausting. Maybe, no matter how many times they won, in the end they would still lose. And maybe, six years from now, despite all the choices and changes he made, all the desperation to save those around him, he would still find himself in a blood-soaked parking lot, surrounded by the bodies of everyone he loved, knowing it would always end there.

Malia turned around to face him. She shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor and pool at her feet. And then she reached for him; she tugged his shirt up and off, tossed away, forgotten. She stared into his eyes as she unbuttoned his jeans. Her face reflected everything he was thinking and feeling and fearing and hoping. Because it could all be for nothing. It could all end the same. But they still had to try. They still had to do everything they could in the hopes of a better future. One where they lived and so did their pack. One where they didn't lose each other in the end.

They climbed into the shower like they had a thousand times before. He could hear, distantly, as Stiles and Lydia bickered over what they were putting together, falling into a rhythm they were always destined to find. And he watched Malia, absorbing every moment, every second, of a ritual they had long perfected. Together, they washed away the mud and grime and dirt from her skin. She always put too much shampoo in his hair and used the extra for her own. She laughed as he slicked his up into a mohawk and when he tried the same with hers, it was much longer than it had been, so it flopped over to one side. Still laughing, hands dripping in soap, she reached for him. And they kissed under the hot spray of the shower, the familiarity of her body pressed flat against his own was a balm.

It was a comfort to know that some things never changed. No matter how old or young they were, what they did or saw, there was a space for them, carved into wherever they found themselves. In countless motels and safe houses, in her house and his. Whatever their past, present, or future held, they had each other.

With her legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in the crook of her neck, her fingers scraping through his hair and across his shoulders, he found comfort and salvation and freedom and love in a body that he knew as well as his own. He kissed the pulse hammering at her throat and listened to the strangled cries she made, her panting breath warm against his ear. And she said his name- a rushed, strangled, breathy plea— in the same moment that he felt it all unravel. His mouth fell open, breath caught, for one long, suspended moment. And then his lungs kicked back into action and the wave ebbed.

Scott pressed wet, sloppy kisses across her collar bone, smiling as she laughed. Her fingers turned gentle, stroking across wet skin, soothing now. Slowly, he let her legs down, smiling as her knees wobbled, before tossing the emergency condom his mom had, thankfully, put in his bathroom after an awkward sex talk. She'd stashed another in his bedroom, he remembered. The first time he'd been 16, he'd groaned and walked away, but now he could appreciate her forethought.

Scott and Malia finished washing up, interspersed with stolen kisses and wandering hands. He dried her off first and then himself, wrapping it around his waist as he followed her into his bedroom. She didn't hesitate to raid his dresser for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, skipping socks and taking a seat on his bed, legs folded under her as she watched, unabashedly as he dressed.

"I need a haircut," she declared.

And he could laugh for how blasé it was. That was part of why he loved Malia. Life was yet again at its most bizarre and she could always be expected to add a little levity to the situation.

He reached over and tugged on a long, damp hank. "I kind of like it long."

Malia swatted his hand away. "It needs too much maintenance. And it's a liability. People can just grab onto it. I have a lot of fighting I have to do; I can't have my hair getting in the way."

He grinned. "Sounds logical."

"Exactly." She unfolded her legs and stood then, walking to him as he finished pulling his shirt sleeves up his forearms. "What about you?" She ran a hand through his damp hair, much floppier than she'd ever seen.

"You don't like it?"

She scrunched her nose up. "I'll get used to it if I have to."

He laughed under his breath. "I'll probably cut it."

She hummed and combed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back and off his face. "Are you still freaking out?"

"A little. Not as much as before."

"Sex always makes for a good distraction."

Taking her hips in his hands, he tugged her forward. "The sex was great, but that's not what helped."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "Then what was it."

He smiled, quiet and sure. "You."

"I didn't do anything." She let her hands fall to his shoulders. "I just know how you are. You take everything on, and you beat yourself up over it. But things don't always go right. It sucks, but it's true. And we're going to make mistakes. Probably a lot of them. And maybe we don't change everything. Maybe we change nothing. But we're going to try. That's what matters, right? That we tried to do everything we could." She stared at him searchingly. "I want it to work. I want everybody to live. I never want to feel like we did in those last moments, when everything fell apart and everyone we loved was gone. I want us to be safe and alive for as long as we can. But I also know that we can't expect miracles or- or perfection. We just have to do our best and take as much time as we can to appreciate what we do have. Which is our friends and our pack and each other. So… I'm going to do that."

Scott nodded. "I know. And that's why I think I'll be okay."

Malia's brow furrowed.

"The first time we did all of this, I had no idea what I was doing. I still don't know exactly what I'm doing. But I have you and Lydia and Stiles and… Slowly, we'll bring the pack together. And when we do, we'll work together, just like we always have. I don't know if we can save everyone or fix everything, but I know we'll try. And I know I have a better chance of doing that with you."

She slid her hands up his neck and cupped his face, thumbs stroking along the arch of his cheeks. "Okay, so… We save the world, take two."

He grinned. "Take two."

"Hey, Lovebirds, this food isn't going to eat itself!" Lydia shouted from below.

"Lovebirds…? You think they're…" Stiles scoffed. "What? While we're here, in the house?"

"Never stopped them before," she muttered.

"So, they… I mean, of course they have. They were together four years. The same amount of time that you and I… Which means we…" He let out a strangled noise then. "Oh my God, I had sex with Lydia Martin."

Scott could practically hear Lydia's eyes rolling.

"Keep it up and it'll only ever happen in your dreams."

"Uh… Wait, so, you mean you and I… I have a chance then? You still… I mean, you want to…"

Letting out a long sigh, she said, "You know, eventually you grow out of this idolization phase and we find a mutual common ground of surviving homicidal monsters. My romantic history is mostly peppered with assholes that eventually redeem themselves. But you… You're different."

"I am?" Stiles' voice raised a notch in surprise.

"Yeah. Somehow, along the way, you became one of my best friends and then… then you became a lot more."

There was a pause before— "How much more?"

Lydia's voice softened. "Like, love of my life more."

"Am I dreaming? Is this…? Am I having some kind of lucid dream experience, or did I die and this is some new version of heaven? Actually, you know what, don't answer that. I don't want to know. I'm content. I will accept this for whatever it is. Fever dream, coma, whatever."

"It's not a dream."

"See, that's exactly what a figment of my imagination would say."

"You're an idiot."

"You know what, you're a lot nicer in most of my fantasies, so I'm actually reconsidering the lucid dream theory now."

Shaking his head, Scott refocused on Malia. "We should get down there before Lydia's patience runs out."

Nodding, Malia followed him out of the room and downstairs.

Stiles and Lydia had put together a small feast of grilled cheese sandwiches, veggies and dip, and sliced up fruit.

Stiles glanced from Scott to Malia and back. "Showered, huh?" He nodded. "Together."

Malia popped a grape in her mouth. "Guess your lucid dream didn't fill in the blanks on that one."

Scott choked on a laugh as he took a seat.

Stiles stared at her, wide-eyed. "How did you…?"

She tapped her ear. "Werecoyote."

"Oh. Right." He squinted at her. "So, all of you are shifters then." He looked to Lydia. "Is a Banshee a shifter?"

Lydia shrugged. "I fall into the category, I guess."

"But I don't, right? I mean, I stay human the whole time?" Stiles looked around the table.

Scott nodded. "Well, there was the nogitsune, but it was possessing you, so…"

"Riiight." Stiles shook his head. "Okay, information overload. Let's, uh, let's eat and then we can make a plan. We already have an idea of what to do about Peter's victims. But we should get a timeline together to see how much time we really have. If we can find a way to prove what they did, we can bring it to my dad, get him to arrest them."

"How do we know that will stop Peter?" Lydia wondered. "Even if we get all of his victims locked up, Peter will probably just ambush the prison, kill a few deputies along the way."

Stiles frowned. "Then we don't keep the victims somewhere innocent people can also be killed… Look, if I tell my dad what's going on, what you guys are, he won't get it. I mean, maybe down the line, after he's seen some stuff and he realizes things aren't right. Then, yeah, he'll come around. But if we just bring this to him, I'm not so sure he won't sign us all up for Eichen House, and considering what I've recently learned about it, I think that's the last place we want to be."

Lydia's face went taut for a brief moment before she shook it off. "What we need to do is stop Peter. Yes, we can make sure that the perpetrators of the fire are stopped, but Peter is the real threat here. He needs to be stopped before he gets too powerful. And frankly, if Scott is no longer a beta that Peter can control or gain power from, we can't be completely sure he won't try to turn someone else."

"So, we're on a time limit and every choice we make just means another, totally unexpected curveball around the corner… I mean, once we change the timeline as it was, it splinters off, right? It becomes a whole new path with twists and turns we can't anticipate." Stiles chewed on his thumbnail. "So, maybe we don't change all of it. Maybe we just make small, subtle changes until we reach something that has to change, that we just can't avoid. Like the other werewolves, what were their names? Erica and Bond?"

"Boyd. Erica and Boyd." Lydia nodded. "We won't let them die." She turned to Scott then, staring at him across the table. "None of them."

He met her gaze, the intensity of it nearly scalding. They were both thinking of the same person. Allison. Unaware of what was to come, walking the halls of Beacon Hills high school, a new girl in a sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for a place in the world.

He nodded at Lydia, an understanding between them. He wasn't sure how they would do it, how they would bring her into this world and help her along a path that, ultimately, was better for her and her father. But they would. And somehow, they would make sure that the ending was nowhere near as terrible as it had been.

Malia reached out, a warm hand covering his atop the table.

He smiled and threaded their fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the length of hers.

Absently, he listened to Lydia and Stiles volley ideas and suggestions back and forth. He ate his food in silence, content to sit and listen and absorb the comfort of friends and family and pack. He wasn't sure what was to come. Whether they would win or lose or some combination of the two. He wasn't sure how far he would make it this time around, or how many might be lost along the way. He wasn't sure of a lot of things. But, he would do his best, and so would Malia and Stiles and Lydia. Eventually, so would Derek and Allison and Sheriff Stilinski and his mother. Isaac and Erica and Boyd. Liam and Mason and Corey. Life would go on. Terrible things would come and go. Enemies would come calling for blood and the pack would stand to meet them. Battered and bruised and tired of fighting, they would continue. Maybe this time they would win more than they lost. Maybe they would save Erica and Boyd and Allison. And maybe some enemies would never return to Beacon Hills, never called or woken. Maybe other enemies would come in their place.

All Scott knew for sure was that he had a second chance and he was going to make the best of it.

"…wait, does this mean I have to take math again?" Malia sighed. "What if we just don't tell anyone I'm back? Can we do that? I'll get my GED online and just… I don't know… not go to math."

Laughing to himself, Scott shook his head. He leaned back in his chair and tugged on Malia's hand, drawing her over until she was leaning against his shoulder.

"I'll help you," Lydia told her. "And this time I won't accidentally give you notes written in code."

Malia snorted. "I appreciate that."

Rubbing her arm, Scott kissed the top of Malia's head. "You did it once, you can do it again. Probably better this time."

"Yeah." She snorted. "Fighting evil and kicking bad guy ass, that I can do better. Math? Not so much."

"We'll get through it." He nodded. "All of us."

As Stiles and Lydia returning to their bickery flirting, Malia tipped her head back to see Scott. She mouthed, 'love you,' and he smiled. Leaning down, he kissed her once, twice, and murmured, "Love you too."

"…all I'm saying is that maybe Jackson doesn't turn into a homicidal lizard and we just send him off to London to have his Eat, Pray, Love moment sans death and mayhem."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "It's not that simple."

"Are you sure? Because it sounds like you want him to grow a tail?"

"It's not about the tail. It's about the journey."

"Oh, there's a quote I'll definitely add to my yearbook."

Lydia let out a frustrated noise. "You are so—"

He smirked. "I know. It's part of my charm."

Exchanging a look, Malia and Scott stood from the table, taking their food with them and leaving for the living room. "Without a referee, they'll just keep at it."

Scott shrugged. "Maybe they need to. Maybe that's how they process everything."

Humming, she took a seat on the couch, legs folded beneath her, and stole a strawberry from his plate. "Sex is more fun." She paused. "Then again, maybe this is their foreplay."

Scott stole a piece of pineapple off her plate. "I don't want to think about that."

She shrugged and leaned back against the couch. "We're better at it anyway."

"Sex?"

Malia nodded.

He grinned. "Are you sure you aren't biased?"

"I know great sex when I have it. And us? We have great sex."

"Well, we did spend a lot of time perfecting it."

She smiled. "Maybe the only upside to being on the run and spending so much time in motels."

"Some of the diners weren't half-bad."

"I think I've had my fill of road trips for a while. You can only see so many 'World's Largest' attractions before the novelty wears off."

"Well, if that ever changes, the World's Largest Pez is right here in California."

She snorted. "I'll remember that."

Scott hugged an arm around her shoulders. "We get to relax. Maybe not totally, but... We have a plan. And compared to a lot of what we've seen, Peter isn't anywhere near the worst of it."

"Yeah. I know." She sunk against his shoulder. "Do you remember what we were doing before everything went to hell?"

He smiled slowly. "I do."

She tipped her head back and squinted at him. "Was that a pun?"

He chuckled. "Not intentionally."

She pursed her lips. "Anyway, you didn't answer."

"I was surprised. And then there was a noise outside." A noise that turned out to be Derek's severed body. He shook his head to rid it of the image. "Anyway, I didn't think I had to."

"Of course you did. It's a question, isn't it?"

He smiled. "Yeah, but I thought my answer would be obvious."

Huffing at him, she shifted in her seat to see him better. "I guess it doesn't really matter. We were 22 when I asked, now we're 16. It's probably not the best time anyway, with everything going on... Not that it made a whole lot of sense then either. I just..." She shook her head. "I wanted us to have something that we could hold onto, something that was ours... Something they couldn't take away."

"I know." He combed his fingers from her temple back through her hair. "And I would've said yes."

She brightened, staring up at him hopefully. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'd say it now too, but I don't think my mom will give me permission to get married when I haven't even finished high school."

Malia hummed. "So, we have a long engagement." She shrugged. "I can do that."

Scott smiled. "Okay."

"You know what's really going to suck though?"

"Hm?"

"After we tell my dad I'm alive, I have to move back home..." Her nose wrinkled. "I haven't had a room to myself in years. I don't think I'll like it."

"I'll visit you. Or you can come here. Mom takes a lot of overnight shifts. We'll make it work."

Catching his hand, she brought it up and pressed a kiss to his palm. "We can do this."

Scott stared down at her a moment. They had a long road ahead of them, rocky and rife with danger and exhaustion, but they would walk it. They would learn from their mistakes and they would do it better. They had to. For everybody that relied on them. For each other. And for themselves. While not easy by any means, they could do it. They could create a better, safer, happier future.

Scott nodded. "We will."

* * *

**END**

* * *

**author's note**:_ to anyone wondering, i do have 23k written for the next two chapters of 'let me break,' they just need some editing._

_ i'm also currently filling prompts for those who donate, as i recently broke my ankle and have spent the last few months in a rehab hospital, so i have some related costs. if you can afford it, please drop by my tumblr (**sarcasticfina**) to find the ko-fi link. once you leave a donation, send me a message (you don't need to have a tumblr account to do so) and let me know what kind of prompt you'd like filled. doesn't have to be scalia, just check in to see if i write the ship you're interested in. _

_thanks so much for reading! please, try to leave a review!_  
\- **lee | fina**


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